Easter Weekend

Another holiday without Otis here.  It's hitting me hard.  We went over to my mom's to dye eggs this afternoon and after my husband made this one, I sat and watched as it dried, tears streaming down my face.  At some point my mom said, "You should make an egg for the new baby too!" and I quickly snapped, "No." And everyone grew quiet. (*E did make one, eventually.  Just a little squiggle on an egg, but a squiggle to represent this new life in me, he said. Nobody else had to know it was the egg for our baby, but he and I would, he said.)

I feel horribly, being so negative.   But this should be Otis's Easter.  Last Easter, I was pregnant, newly in maternity clothes.  My family has a tradition of making "Peep Art" at Easter, from the marshmallow Peeps.  I made a "Pregnant Peep" complete with big boobs and a big round belly and long blond (ok, so it was more like fluorescent yellow) hair.  E saved it, and we just found it a few months ago, and I threw it out. This Easter, I don't even want anyone to talk about the fact that I'm pregnant, even though everyone that will be there tomorrow already knows (except for 98 year old Granny, but that's another complicated blog post for another day.)  I am purposely NOT wearing maternity clothes at all, even though I probably should be, for comfort and decency's sake.  I am avoiding them as long as I can, I don't want anyone to see that I'm pregnant, I don't want anyone thinking I'm even remotely "expecting" anything this time around.  

I think part of the pain with Easter this year is that it feels like everyone in my family, though Otis is of course still important to them, is able to move through their days without the sadness that still weighs heavy on my heart...So tomorrow, Easter Sunday, when we go to my mom's for a big supper with all the family, they will able to be joyful, egg-hunting, candy-eating, laughing, celebrating, yadda yadda-ing and it feels like this would have likely been the first family holiday where his personality was really starting to shine through (he would've been so newborn-y still at Thanksgiving and Christmas) and no, he wouldn't have been hunting for eggs or anything, but he would have been there, laughing, sitting up, doing all those things that almost 8 month olds do.  Right?  Argh. (Like I even fucking know what 8 month old babies do, for fuck's sake.)

Instead, family and friends will be there and will try to cheer me up with talk of this new pregnancy.  This new pregnancy that I cannot believe in, not even for an extended moment these days.  They may mention Otis, but it will be brief, like it almost always is these days.

I would like to crawl under a rock, skip the "festivities" tomorrow and sit at home on the sofa with the dogs.  Pretend it's just another crappy Sunday, which, in essence, it will be. Another crappy Sunday without my boy.